"Tamerlane's Plov and the Philosophy of the Cast Iron Frying Pan"

 First of all, it should be noted that cooking pilaf according to Tamerlane's favorite recipe is not a task for the faint of heart. Especially if your frying pan can talk, and tomatoes and coffee beans are being discussed on the kitchen table.

"Stop doubting," the frying pan said, its sooty side shining. "I've seen worse things: cooks who confuse cumin with caraway, and cooks who add grated carrots to pilaf!"

"This is a crime against common sense," the tomato nodded, swinging importantly on the plate.

"Absolutely right," the frying pan picked up. "Real Tamerlane's pilaf is not some kind of boiled rice porridge with additives. This is art, this is philosophy, this is victory over chaos in the world of cereals.

I sighed and decided not to argue with the kitchen utensils.

"Let's start with oil," the frying pan continued. "Tamerlane used fat tail fat in his pilaf. It gives the dish a characteristic depth of flavor, you understand?" I nodded in agreement and sent the fat tail pieces into the heated frying pan. They sizzled like ancient warriors before battle.

"Now the onion, but don't overdo it!" the tomato exclaimed. "The onion should be cut into half rings and fried until golden brown, not until it's like coals from a wood-burning oven." I carefully added the onion, following the wise instructions of the vegetable.

"Meat!" the frying pan solemnly proclaimed. "Lamb, of course. And don't you dare cut it into small pieces!" I obediently sent large pieces of lamb into the frying pan. They began to brown, emitting a smell that could possibly inspire Tamerlane's army to new conquests.

- Spices! - coffee beans intervened. - The main thing is not to mix them up!

- If you put cinnamon in now, I'll leave the house! - threatened the tomato.

- No way, - muttered the frying pan. - Here's cumin, here's barberry, here's black pepper. And, of course, salt.

- Don't forget the saffron! - reminded the tomato. - It will give the rice that very sunny shade that Tamerlane loved so much.

I carefully sprinkled in the spices, and the air was filled with aromas that could be called weapons of mass seduction.

- And now the carrots, - continued the frying pan. - Yellow, cut into strips.

- The main thing is not grated! - exclaimed the tomato and coffee beans in chorus.

The carrots went to join the meat and spices, acquiring a golden-orange hue.

- Water! - the frying pan commanded. - Just enough to cover the meat. And no more!

I poured in the water, and the frying pan rumbled contentedly.

- Now we wait, - she said.

I sat down on a stool while my kitchen was filled with the spirit of history.

- You know, - the tomato said thoughtfully, - they say that Tamerlane ate pilaf before every important battle. He believed that good food makes an army invincible.

- Absolutely right, - the frying pan confirmed. - And at his feasts, pilaf was served in huge ceramic dishes decorated with lapis lazuli.

- These are not plastic containers, - the coffee beans grumbled.

Time passed, the water was absorbed, and it was time to add rice.

— The rice should be piled up without stirring! — the frying pan reminded.

I did everything as instructed.

— Now turn down the heat and wait, — it commanded.

I sat down again and wiped my forehead. Cooking Tamerlane's pilaf is probably more serious than waging a war.

After a while, the frying pan announced contentedly:

— It's ready.

I carefully removed the lid. The aroma was such that even the tomato fell silent in awe.

— Magnificent! — the coffee beans admired. — Tamerlane would have approved.

I took a spoon, tasted the pilaf and realized: yes, this is truly a victory.